


missing feathers

by snarkymuch



Series: Broken Wings [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Peter Parker, Light Angst, Peter Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Wingfic, preening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: Peter hasn't let anyone touch his wings since his Uncle Ben died. He worries that he'll bring bad luck to those that do. People need the connection and closeness that caring for each other's wings supplies. Going without is taking its toll on Peter. Tony helps him come to terms with things.*Reading the others in series recommended but probably not required*
Relationships: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Broken Wings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588876
Comments: 39
Kudos: 714





	missing feathers

**Author's Note:**

> a huge thank you to for-thine-is on tumblr for the great bird info! You're the best. I haven't edited this well, but it's readable. I think. I hope you enjoy!

Peter sat on the couch, eating a bowl of cereal, when May stumbled out of her room, her tatty pink robe pulled around her. She yawned widely, hand going to her mouth. Peter raised a brow, pausing, a spoonful of cereal suspended in front of him. 

“Rough shift last night?” he asked.

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her robe. “These double shifts are killing me. You should see my wings. They’re a mess from all the stress.”

Peter lowered the spoon back to the bowl, cocking his head to the side. “Do you want me to preen them?”

Her shoulders dropped, a gentle smile touching her face. “You don’t have to. I know how you feel about it.”

“That’s—just because I don’t like people touching mine, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to help you.”

It had been years since Peter had let someone touch his wings—not even May. Ben had been the last to preen Peter’s wings, hours before he died. No matter how much Peter wanted to believe his wings didn’t play a part in his death, the fear still existed. He couldn’t risk putting someone else in danger, not just so his feathers sat straight. Sure, preening felt good, but he’d be okay without it. There wasn’t any other choice. 

May twisted her lips as she studied him before letting out a sigh. “If you’re sure, I could really use it.”

Peter brightened. “I just have a few bites of cereal left.”

“No rush,” May said. “I need some coffee first anyway.”

Peter finished his breakfast and then washed his bowl and put it away. By the time he was done, May had nearly finished her coffee. He went to the living room and moved the mountain of laundry out of the chair that they used for preening. Most people had one. Theirs was similar to a chaise lounge. It was old and well-worn but comfortable. May fell asleep in it more often than not when Peter preened her wings. 

When May walked into the living room, she shook out her wings, soft feathers rustling into place. She took a seat, cuddling up with a pillow, her primaries nearly touching the floor. The stress showed on her wings, and Peter felt bad for her. The feathers weren’t lying flat, and the fine downy ones looked knotted and twisted amongst themselves. Peter knelt behind her, letting his fingers trace over the misaligned feathers before gently working them back in place. He pinched and slide his fingers along the rougher looking ones, resealing them. There were a few loose feathers that seemed to be bothering her, so we wiggled them out, rubbing the spot after to soothe the ache. 

The TV was constant background noise as Peter worked. Occasionally, May would hum appreciatively when he ran his fingers through. The downy feathers took more time to work out, but after a little effort, they were untangled and fluffy again. May snuffled softly, and Peter realized she’d fallen asleep. He took the quilt off the back of the couch and laid it over her before slipping off to his room to finish getting ready for the day.

As he tied his shoes, his mind wandered to his wings and to the last time someone had groomed his. May worried because he didn’t let anyone touch them, as preening was a basic social need, but he played it off, pretending that he was doing better than he was. It was a way to connect with those you cared about. Going without it was the same as touch starvation, and May had a right to be worried. Peter tried his best to take care of them himself, but it wasn’t the same. Most of the feathers were out of his reach, and he had to adjust to the constant nagging ache and persistent itch of shedding feathers. 

Peter gathered his things and made his way out the door. He was heading to Ned’s for the weekend. He had just gotten the box set of Red Dwarf, and they planned on bingeing the show over the next few days. 

Ned was leaned against the wall on his bed, munching popcorn, and Peter sat curled up in a bean bag, half watching the show and the other half his attention fixed on the Rubik’s cube in his hands. Usually, he could solve it quickly, but today, he couldn’t focus. His wings itched to be stretched, and he missed the comfort that preening supplied. It had been years since someone had really touched his wings. He still remembered the last time he sat with Ben. His uncle was never afraid, though maybe he should have been. It had only been hours after touching Peter’s wings that a bullet found its way through his chest. 

He turned the block in his hands, frustrated, then threw it to the floor, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

“Hey, you okay?” Ned asked, making Peter look in his direction. Ned’s brows were pulled together, and he was chewing a mouthful of popcorn. 

Peter shrugged, sinking down into the bean bag. 

“Anything I can do? Wanna watch something else?”

Peter rolled his head to the side. “I’m sorry, man. It’s not you or the show or anything, really. It’s me.”

“Wanna talk about it? I’m not really qualified, but as your man in the chair, I feel it’s my responsibility to offer.”

“It’s just stupid—really. It’s not even that big of a deal.”

Ned munched another handful of popcorn, then grabbed the remote, pausing the show. “Is this about your wings?”

“What? Why would you think that? It’s not my wings.”

Ned rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid, Peter. I know you. Besides, if it was something else, you wouldn’t hesitate to tell me.” He shrugged. “You’re always weird about your wings.”

“I’m not weird. I just don’t like them. You wouldn’t either if they were stuck on your back.”

Ned shrugged again. “Maybe, maybe not. So, what’s up? You having issues with Mr. Stark or something? I thought he liked them.”

Peter looked down at his hands, scuffing his foot against the carpet. “It’s not him. I told you. He’s been really cool. It’s just—I helped May with her wings yesterday.”

“I’ll be honest. I’m not really following. Did you not want to help her?”

“What? No. I love taking care of her wings.” He looked at the TV and then back to his hands. “It’s just—it’s been a while for me, and I think it’s just getting to me.”

“What do you mean it’s been a while?”

Peter’s voice was low when he spoke. “I haven’t—I haven’t let anyone touch my wings since Ben.”

“Wait, Peter, you can’t be serious. It’s like a basic necessity. How are you still even functioning?”

Peter frowned, picking at his sleeve. “It’s like I want to be this way, but I can’t—what if it’s true? What if touching them makes bad things happen?”

Ned let out a breath. “Peter, you can’t think that way.”

Peter wrapped an arm around his middle. “I’m not feeling that well. I think I’m gonna lay down.”

“You know I’m here for you, right? As your man in the chair and your friend, too. You know I don’t believe in that crazy wing stuff. If you wanted, I’d be happy to help you out. I mean, you’ve done mine before.”

A smile twitched on Peter’s lips. “Yeah, I know, man, thanks, but I think I’ll be alright. I’ll keep it in mind, though.”

* * *

“Tony, you look exhausted. When was the last time you slept?” Pepper asked. When Tony went to open his mouth to retort, she held up a hand, making snap his jaw shut. “In a bed. In an actual bed and not that god-awful couch that you insist on keeping in your workshop.”

Tony frowned. “It's not that awful.”

“It smells like motor oil and dirty socks.”

“It has sentimental value. I’ve had it since college,” Tony explained, then walked over to the cupboard, getting a mug, “and sleep's overrated. I’m not going to waste half my lifetime horizontal unless it comes with some extra benefits—if you know what I mean.” He winked at her and then filled his cup with coffee.

She sighed. “You're incorrigible, and you don’t need coffee. You need sleep.” Pepper walked over and took the mug from his hands, dumping it in the sink. She put her hands on her hips as she stared him down. “Bed, now, and it’s not up for discussion.”

Tony narrowed his eyes, ready to argue, but when she raised an eyebrow in challenge, he deflated. He was feeling tired. He needed to get some alone time anyway to take care of what was left of his wings. He didn’t have much, but the feathers that remained tended to grow wrong, and Tony needed to pluck them to ease the pain. 

“Fine,” Tony huffed. “You win this round, Ms. Potts.”

The corner of her mouth twitched up. “Good, I’ll see you later, Tony. Get some rest.”

With a peck on the cheek, Pepper gathered her tablet and phone and made her way back to work, leaving Tony standing in the kitchen, looking at his empty mug in the sink. Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his mouth and then called to Friday, telling her to divert calls unless it was an emergency. He was going to bed. 

When he got to his room, he stripped out of his shirt and kicked off his stained grease pants. Looking in the mirror, he took in the scars from his time in Afghanistan. 

Knowing it needed to be done, he shook out what was left of his wings and looked at the little bit he could see in the mirror. Every time he saw himself now, without his once-massive wings, he felt hollow. He could feel the absence of them in his soul. 

He flexed what was left, missing the weight he’d grown up with. They didn’t hurt more than usual. Reaching back, he felt what he could, hissing when he touched a feather that was sticking out at a funny angle. The scar tissue made them grow twisted. Gripping it between his fingers, he gritted his teeth and pulled it out. Dropping the feather in the trash, he made his way to bed, leaving his wings out to stretch. 

As he tried to sleep, he thought of Peter and how far the kid had come. When he’d first seen his wings, it had taken him back to his childhood and his memories of Jarvis. It hurt to think that Peter struggled with stereotypes and prejudice. Tony had never really thought about it, but Jarvis must have faced the same things, yet he had never let it show. He had always worn his wings with pride. Tony realized that Jarvis was braver than he had ever given him credit for. 

Peter had gained confidence in the last few months, but something Tony had noticed was that the kid’s wings didn’t look healthy. They were ragged and dull, not sleek and neat like he’d expect from someone Peter’s age. It almost didn’t look like he was preening them, but he couldn’t imagine that May wouldn’t be doing it for him. They were family, and if anything, ravens needed that connection more than most. Jarvis had told him how ravens seek out comfort from those they are close with. They need the social and emotional connection just as much as the physical act of tidying up their feathers themselves.

With more questions than answers, Tony drifted off to sleep. 

The next week passed by quickly, and soon it was Friday again, and Peter was due to be over. His aunt was going to be away for the weekend and had asked if he wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on Peter. Tony didn’t mind at all, and maybe, if things went well, he’d be able to ask Peter about his wings. The worry for his health had been nagging at him all week, ever since he realized how poor his wings looked. 

“Boss, Peter is on the way up.”

Tony looked away from the screen to check the time. “Didn’t realize it was so late already. Friday, shut everything down and order our usual from that Thai place down on nineteenth.”

“Of course, should I have it delivered to the penthouse or workshop?”

“Penthouse works for me.”

As Tony put away his tools, the door to the workshop slid open, revealing a very tired looking Peter. His curls were messy but not in a cute way, more in a hadn’t slept and didn’t comb them kind of way. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his mouth was slightly turned down. His eyes brightened a little when he saw him, but that didn’t reassure Tony much. 

“Hey, under-roos, I just ordered some food. Why don’t we head up to the penthouse, and you can tell me all about your week, and maybe explain why you look like an extra from The Walking Dead today.”

Peter scrunched his nose, bag hanging by the strap from his fingers. “Since when do you watch The Walking Dead?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject, Carl.”

“Does that make you Rick?”

Tony laughed. “I’m so much cooler than Rick.”

Peter smiled, and it reached it his eyes, making him look lighter like whatever weight on his shoulders had eased. Friday shut the lights off in the workshop, and Peter followed as Tony led them to the penthouse. The food wasn’t there yet, so Peter went to the living room and tossed his bag on the coffee table. It landed with a thump. 

“How much stuff you got in that thing?”

Peter shrugged. “Just the usual, plus an old DVD player I found in the dumpster on the way here.”

Tony raised a brow, sitting in a chair beside the couch. “Really? You’re still dumpster diving?”

Peter’s brow wrinkled. “I couldn’t just leave it there. It’s got all kinds of useful parts.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, but don’t go making any killer robots or start trying to upgrade your suit with it.”

“It’s a DVD player,” Peter deadpanned.

“And all I had was a box of scraps in a cave and look at what I built.”

Peter smirked. “I could totally see you as a dumpster diver.”

“Yeah, no.”

Their conversation was cut short when Friday announced that security was bringing up their food. Tony greeted them at the elevator and took the bags, bringing them to the living room and placing them on the table. He went and grabbed some forks while Peter began digging around in the bags. When he returned, Peter had the food all laid out on the table and was already picking at it with his fingers.

“Hungry?” Tony asked.

Peter licked his fingers. “Starving, actually.”

Tony passed him a fork and few napkins. He took a seat in the chair. “So, how’s school going?”

Peter lowered his fork and shrugged a shoulder. “Good, I guess.”

“That Flash kid still giving you a hard time?” 

Tony wondered if that was the reason behind Peter looking so worn out. He knew Flash bullied him, May had told him, but there wasn’t much he could do. 

“Yeah, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You know, if it gets to be too much, you can come to me—or your aunt.”

“I know, Mr. Stark, thanks.”

They resumed eating, but Tony kept an eye on him. He noticed that Peter’s shoulders were more tense than usual, and he kept adjusting them. It was then that Tony realized, Peter hadn’t taken his wings out yet. He wondered how long it had been. The kid must be uncomfortable. Tony saw this as his chance to broach the subject of Peter’s wing health. 

“If your wings are bothering you, you can take them out. No one is coming by tonight. Pepper caught a flight in Indonesia this morning.”

Peter glanced up at him as he chewed. His food was almost gone, and Tony wondered if he should have ordered more. He swallowed, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’m not sure it’s a good day for that. I’d rather not have them out.”

That caught Tony off guard. He thought they were past that. “What’s going on, Peter? At first, I thought it was school, but now I’m thinking there’s more to the depressed raccoon look you’re sporting.”

Peter shrugged, leaning back on the cushions. His fingers twisted in his lap. Tony could feel the anxious energy radiating off him.

“Talk to me.”

Peter glanced up, a frown touching his brow. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong.”

Peter averted his eyes. “I can’t—you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. I’m a literal genius.”

Peter chewed his bottom lip, and Tony worried that he’d shut down. Whatever was eating at him, it was big enough that he was afraid to talk about it, and considering he was willing to be open with his wings, it kind of scared Tony. His mind started going through all the possibilities, and he didn’t like any of them. He considered asking Friday to scan him for injuries but bit down on the urge—not yet. He needed to try to talk to Peter first. 

Finally, Peter broke the silence. 

“I don’t want you to be mad—or worse—feel sorry for me.”

“Peter, honestly, there’s nothing you can do that will make me mad—at least for long—and I have I ever pitied you? I’ve been sympathetic but no pity.” Tony took a breath, letting his expression soften. He wanted Peter to feel safe. “Talk to me, Peter. What’s going on?”

Peter’s frown intensified, but after a moment, he took a shaky breath, looking at Tony. “They—my wings—I’ve been busy, so I haven’t had the time. I mean, normally, I can reach around and straighten the feathers, but like I said, busy.”

Tony’s brows pinched together as he tried to make sense of what Peter said. He didn’t understand why Peter hadn’t just asked May to preen them. Even if she was busy, Tony was sure that she’d make the time. 

“I don’t understand. I know you said you were busy, but why not have your aunt preen them?”

Peter pursed his lips, his hands twisting anxiously. “I don’t—I don’t actually let her, or anyone, really.”

Tony’s heart sank as the weight of Peter’s words hit him. He cleared his throat. “Peter, when was the last time someone touched your wings?”

His answer was almost too quiet to hear. “Before Ben died. He was the last.”

Tony sucked in a breath. That had been years ago. Tony knew firsthand what it was like to go without since his wings were gone, but he wasn’t a raven. If what Jarvis explained to him was right, they craved the comfort of touch more than most. For anyone, the empty feeling of going without that connection was enough to drive some people over the edge of sanity. You could become clinically depressed from that kind of deprivation.

Peter was right. It did make him angry, but not at Peter. No, he was mad at the world for making such a sweet kid afraid of his own wings. 

Tony made sure to keep his frustration with society out of his voice when he asked, “Why not go to May, though? She loves you. She wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Peter shrugged, looking down at his hands. “I wish I could, but it’s too risky. You don’t understand. Ben—he died after touching mine. Before he went out that day, he had preened my wings. What if—what if I really am bad luck?”

Tony sighed. “Kid, no, you can’t think that way. What happened was awful, but it’s not on you. It’s on the guy who pulled the trigger.”

Peter looked at him, tears brimming in his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

Tony didn’t either. He had no idea how to fix this, Peter’s fears were deep-seated, but he knew he needed to do something. He couldn’t let Peter suffer any longer. 

“Well, we’re going to figure this out.”

“How?”

“Do you trust me?”

Peter nodded, a few tears breaking loose from his lashes and rolling down his cheeks. He wiped at them with his hand. 

“Good, then you’ll trust me when I say, nothing bad is going to happen if you let someone touch your wings.”

“But, Mr. Stark—”

“Nope, you said you trusted me. You know it’s not healthy to go without contact—especially since you’re a raven.” Peter eyed him warily, but Tony pressed on. “What do you think will happen if I touch them?”

Peter’s shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug.

“You remember me telling you about Jarvis? Well, his wings were beautiful. Every feather was in its place—pristine, sharp black wings. He even let me preen them once or twice, and guess what? Nothing bad happened.”

Peter looked at him, a frown marring his face. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“And what if I’m not? What if you’re suffering for no reason? This isn’t something you can just brush off. It’s a necessity, Peter. You’re making yourself sick. There are studies on this kind of deprivation, and let me tell you, the results aren’t good.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is, Peter, and you know it. Hell, I know it. Do you know how long it’s been since I have had someone run their fingers through my feathers? Scary long, kid. I have to take supplements and medications just to get by. I know what deprivation feels like, and I don’t want it for you.”

Peter’s shoulders sagged. “What can I do?”

“We can talk to May together. Tell her how you’re really doing. I know she doesn’t want you feeling this way. You need to let someone take care of your wings.”

“Does it have to be her?”

Tony’s head tilted to the side. “No, but I figured you’d want someone close, a family member.”

“You could—I mean, I would be okay with you. If you wanted.”

He blinked a few times, surprised. He knew Peter trusted him, but he was shocked Peter was willing to let him touch his wings. That was something reserved for those you cared for the most. It was a very personal thing to share. Warmth spread through his chest as he realized how close they’d become.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony agreed. “I’d be more than happy to help you. If you want, we can get some pillows and blankets, make a bit of a nest on the couch. I don’t have a preening chair here. I actually got rid of mine after—well, after I lost my wings.”

“I’m still really sorry that happened to you.”

“I made it out of there, though. It could have been worse.”

Peter nodded and went back to fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. Tony gathered up the containers from dinner and cleaned the table. When he was done, he went to the guest room and gathered all the blankets and pillows he could carry. He brought them back to the living room, and together they made a nest that would be comfortable for Peter to curl up in. Nest building, though no longer necessary, was still something people, especially children, did when they craved security. It wasn’t much different than building a pillow fort, just a different shape.

Peter let his wings fall onto his back, and Tony got the first real look at how damaged the feathers were. Many of the feathers were split and needed to be resealed or even plucked. Many were out of place, sticking up. It was going to take a while to smooth them all back out.

Careful of his wings, Peter climbed into the nest of pillows, clutching one to his chest. His wings settled against the blankets. Tony dragged the coffee table closer to the couch and then took a seat.

“I’m going to touch them now, okay?”

He waited until he saw Peter nod before reaching out and brushing his fingers over the rough plumage. His wings shivered under the touch. Taking a breath to steady himself, Tony began, starting with his lesser coverts that looked to be in the worst shape, though his primaries were ragged, too. He worried that he wouldn’t be able to fix all the damage. The first thing he did was wiggle out the loose feathers and then helped to work out the newly emerging ones. He knew his wings must ache and itch. Tony hoped he could relieve some of the discomforts.

Once the loose feathers were dealt with, he moved on to smoothing some of the feathers themselves, pinching and running his finger down the length of each to reseal them. Slowly, his feathers began to look healthier. Encouraged by Peter’s sounds of contentment, he pressed on, working all the areas of his wings. Like he suspected, the primaries were tricky. They were dry and damaged. Probably from stress. Peter’s wings didn’t seem to be producing much natural oil. Tony worked with what he could, though, making a mental note to get Peter in to see his doctor. A few supplements might not be amiss.

By the time Tony was done, Peter was asleep, snoring softly, and there was a pile of feathers on the table beside Tony. His wings looked better, but Peter would need to vigilant about letting someone preen them. Honestly, Tony didn’t mind doing it, and he would be honored to do it again.

Careful not wake him, Tony got up and grabbed the corner of the blanket that had fallen from the nest, gently lifting it and tucking it around Peter. Sighing, Tony left the room to talk to Friday and get started on ways to help Peter. As much as he wanted to fix everything himself, he knew he would need more help. The first thing would be talking to his aunt and then working together to get the kid healthy again. It wasn’t going to be an easy road, but Tony wasn’t going to let him walk it alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you liked it and if you have other ideas for this AU or anything else, I am open to prompts. Hit me up in comments or on [tumblr](https://snarky-drabbles.tumblr.com/)


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